


Let Them Eat Bread

by EarthboundJedi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, French Revolution, FrenchRevolution!AU, assuming i'm not too lazy and actually remember to adjust stuff, let's see where this adventure goes shall we?, will probably add more tags later on as this evolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthboundJedi/pseuds/EarthboundJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They dream of life without a monarchy, but the unrest in France will lead to anarchy.<br/>And now that Ladybug and Chat Noir are on the scene, everything's about to get panicky...</p>
<p>(What happens when I listen to Hamilton every day on the way to work? I get inspired to write a Miraculous Ladybug FrenchRevolution!AU. You're welcome.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... I'm actually attempting to make this sort of historically accurate?? You know, except for the whole Ladybug and Chat Noir thing. Or anything else I alter/mess up along the way, because it's an AU and imma do what I want.
> 
> Currently rated T, any running bets on how many chapters I last 'til we spiral into the sinful second circle of hell? lol

Marinette sighed as she mopped her brow with the corner of her apron. Spring had come to France, and the combined heat from the warm afternoon sun and the burning hot ovens was already unbearable.

She was not looking forward to summertime.

Bending down to stoke the coals, she glanced over at her father. It didn’t look like he was fairing much better - he was desperately trying to keep his head up while kneading the dough to keep his sweat out of his work. Marinette reached for the bucket of flour, preparing to start on her last batch of baguettes for the day. But when she looked inside, it didn’t look like there would be enough for a full batch.

“Papa,” she called out, holding up the nearly empty bucket.

“I know, Marinette, I know.”

“But papa, the authorities told us we needed at least twenty dozen loaves made today!”

“I know.” At this, Tom Dupain took a break from kneading to look at his daughter. “But if we aren’t given access to as much flour as we need, then they’ll just have to deal with it.”

“But papa – “

“We’ll be fine, Marinette. Just fine. We _are_ the king’s preferred bakery, after all,” he winked at his daughter, trying to ease her worry. “Just do what you can with what’s left. I’m honestly getting tired of seeing nothing but baguettes, so feel free to get creative. Maybe make something we can put in the display in the window.”

Marinette chewed at her bottom lip. “But papa, I don’t want us getting in trouble. It’s bad enough people keep rioting and looting during the night, the last thing we need is the king and his men bearing down on us, too!”

Tom wiped the flour dust off his hand before placing it on Marinette’s shoulder. “Sweetie. I know times are scary right now, but I’m sure it will all be sorted out soon.”

He quickly scanned the area before dropping his voice. “I’ve heard rumors from some of our regulars that the king will be calling for a meeting of _Les États-Généraux_ soon. The Third Estate hopes to make a push for equal representation, and maybe that will help ease some of the outrageous taxes that got us in this mess in the first place.

“After all, it worked for the Americans. Why not us?”

“I hope you’re right, papa,” she said softly, smiling up at him. He smiled back, returning to his work.

As Marinette retrieved her mixing bowl from under the counter, she let her gaze wander out the window. Despite the feeling of spring in the air, the streets looked downright miserable. Dirt, garbage, and who knows what else lay in trenches along the roads. It was nearing the time when people started finishing up their jobs for the day, and families up and down the street were preparing to sell the last of their goods and prepare for tomorrow. This particular street of Paris was packed with all sorts of merchants, everything from candle makers to butchers to jewelers. Most of the business they saw throughout the day was from various aristocrats and noblemen, many of them residents of Versailles itself.

 _Ahhh, Versailles_. It was always sparkling, whether it was daytime or nighttime, and was filled with some of the most beautiful things Marinette had ever seen (about once a week her father would take her to the palace when they hand-delivered their finest creations to the front door). Like the clothes. Oh, gosh, the clothes. All different hues of the rainbow, glittering with gold and silver accents and rare gemstones, swirling across fabrics that were soft, delicate, and flowing.

Part of her was abhorred at the excess of it all, especially when she saw every day how most of the city (and country, for the matter) barely scraped by.

Part of her was fascinated by it, and wanted nothing more than to design such beautiful things someday herself.

But all of her would always be just a baker’s daughter. Not that that was a horrible position to be in. But, until she gets married in a couple years or so, that’s all she would ever be. And then after that she would be the wife of some other tradesman, whether it be a blacksmith, a cheesemaker, or another baker.

_Hi. My name is Marinette Dupain. Just your average 16-year-old girl living in France during 1789. Living the dream._

She interrupted her sarcastic line of thought to look out the window again. A couple of young children had started wrestling each other in the street, fighting over the heel of a loaf of bread. Their faces were gaunt, and as they tumbled around Marinette could practically see the frames of their skeletons peeking out from under their clothes.

_Yep. Living the dream._

Looking at the empty bowl in front of her, she suddenly had an idea of what she was going to do with the last bit of flour.

* * *

 Marinette sat in front of the small mirror in her room, combing her dark hair back into low pigtails. The sun had set just moments ago, so everything in her room was lit by the flickering glow of candlelight. It gave everything a dark, mysterious air to it, putting doubts in her mind if she should actually go through with this or not.

No… she needed to do this. Or what she saw earlier today would just keep eating her up inside.

Crouching by her bed, she slid a large trunk from underneath it. With a forceful tug, the lid stiffly opened, revealing an array of fabrics inside. They were simple in material, but it was the patterns on them that intrigued Marinette the most.

Well, that, and the fact that this was the only remaining thing she had from her mother.

Sabine Dupain had died giving birth to Marinette, so she didn’t really know much about her mom. Sabine had come from a tailor’s family across town, and this trunk was one of the few things she had brought with her when she moved in with her dad. It was a very simple, plain, brown case. On the inside of the lid, however, her mom had left behind little scribbles of ladybugs all around the edges. Either her mom had been superstitious and believed it would bring her good luck ( _that turned out well, didn’t it?_ ), or Sabine had just really liked ladybugs.

Her dad had passed it on to Marinette when she was about seven or eight, figuring the little girl would be able to put the trunk and its contents to better use than he ever could. But so far all she had ever done was stare and look at the fabrics, occasionally touching them, afraid to use them to make anything for fear of wasting them. For fear of potentially squandering what little she had from her mother.

But ever since this afternoon a thought had been tickling the back of her mind. And instead of quietly burying itself like most of her thoughts, this one had raged to the forefront of her consciousness until she couldn’t stop thinking about it, refusing to go quietly into the night.

Tongue caught between her teeth, she leafed through the layers of fabrics, waiting for one to jump out at her. There were blues, pinks, greens, ones with little stars around the borders, even a couple with faint stripes across their surface. But somehow, none of them seemed fitting for what she had in mind.

Minute by minute, the pile of fabric on the floor next to her grew as she kept pulling squares of it from the trunk. Soon Marinette was staring at a heaping pile of cloth next to an empty trunk. She had seen a lot of fabric she could definitely work with, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing, something she hadn’t seen yet.

Dejectedly, Marinette leaned over the side of the trunk, letting her fingers trail along the empty bottom. Her fingers wandered, tracing swirling paths in the smooth grain of the wood. Then, nearly imperceptible, her touch came across a slight raise in the wood near the corner.

_Odd…_

Tilting the trunk slightly to allow the light to hit it at a better angle, she peered into the corner where she had noticed the anomaly. There were slight scratches along the edge, and a small tab was practically invisible as it lay flush against the walls of the trunk.

Well, if that didn’t scream “PULL ME”, Marinette didn’t know what else did.

Prying back the tab with her fingernails, she dug between the pieces of wood and pulled upwards. The entire bottom (or, what she had thought was the bottom) came up, revealing a secret compartment underneath.

_Now why in the world would mom have needed a secret compartment for fabric?_

That was, assuming it _was_ fabric underneath.

All Marinette could see so far was a brown paper parcel with a small note resting on top. Wondering if she should actually open it or not, she grabbed the note and brought it closer to the candlelight to read it.

 _“For my future Buginette._ ”

 _Buginette?_ _Was that supposed to be a little ladybug or something? Future… wait, did she put this together for_ me _while she was still expecting?_

Setting the note aside, Marinette pulled the package out of the trunk. Carefully undoing the string holding it together, she removed whatever was inside from the paper.

She had expected to find a little more than just fabric squares. But this was a _lot_ more than that.

In her lap lay a long, continuous piece of fabric. From the feel of it, it was just a simple, sturdy cotton material. But it was the design, oh heavens the design, that surprised her the most.

Before her was a deep, ruby-red fabric with black spots all over it.

Just like a ladybug.

The spots looked as if they were added on after the initial dying of the fabric, almost as if someone had taken black dye and hand painted circles in neat rows all over the cloth.  Marinette had seen a lot of different things done with fabrics, but this was completely new and strange. No wonder her mom had kept it hidden.

And she loved it.

Marinette quickly got to work, measuring out a couple smaller portions of the fabric. She had plans to use more of the fabric later when she had more time to work, but tonight she just needed something simple to help her carry out her self-imposed mission.

She took the smaller of the two strips, just barely wider than her hand, and angled the edges of the fabric to taper to a point on each end. Then, carefully, she plotted out the location of a couple eyeholes, cutting them out from the center.

Standing up, she took the homemade mask and wrapped it around her head, knotting it securely in the back under her pigtails. The extra ends of the fabric hung free, ending just below her shoulders. Marinette peered into the dim reflection of her mirror, satisfied with how the fabric sat across her forehead and cheeks. And every time she turned her head, she could see from her reflection that the ends of the mask flowed softly behind her like spotted red ribbons.

_Yes, this will work just fine._

The last thing she needed was anyone recognizing her and getting her dad in trouble.

Nervously smoothing out her simple black blouse and long skirt, she grabbed the other piece of fabric she had cut. This one, being larger, she loosely tied like a kerchief around her neck so that it draped across her shoulders. Then, sighing, she put her hands on her hips.

“Well, I guess it’s now or never,” she muttered to herself. Though she had to admit, she was starting to feel as bold as the fabric that covered her features.

Scooping up a small handbasket, she quietly made her way out of her room, down the stairs, and into the street, shutting the bakery door silently behind her.

Marinette couldn’t remember the last time she had been outside after dark. Ever since unrest had started sweeping through the country, no one in their right mind left their homes once the sun set.

Especially not alone.

She took a deep breath.

 _I can do this. I_ have _to do this. If I don’t, who else will?_

She quickly darted across the street, ducking into an alley to her right. It was the complete opposite direction of where she wanted to end up, but she wanted to do a couple random loops around the neighborhood first. Just to make sure no one could easily tell where she was from.

The loops weren’t exactly random, though – she had already plotted out her course well advance in her head so that she wouldn’t get lost. It would just _look_ random to anyone who decided to spy on her. But if anyone looked closely enough at her face, they’d see her chewing on her lower lip as she meticulously traced her route on the mental map in her head.

Not that there was anyone around to see her. Because, like any sane person, the majority of the city had barricaded themselves indoors for the night.

_Hi, I’m Marinette Dupain. Just an insane 14-year-old girl walking around Paris in the middle of the night in a red and black spotted mask._

* * *

 After about a half-hour of intentional wandering, Marinette found herself at the door of a large, run-down building.

The orphanage.

She nervously stood on the front step. _Should I knock on the front door? Should I just leave the basket and run? Should I –_

Suddenly, she heard a tapping noise coming from one of the side windows. Looking around, Marinette hesitantly made her way over to where the shadow of a young girl was pressed against the glass. The window creaked and groaned as the girl tried to force it open. Marinette set down the basket so she could grasp one of the edges and help. With a loud crack, the window finally flew open, nearly causing Marinette to fall on her butt.

The little girl giggled quietly. “You’re really funny, lady!”

Marinette smiled, still trying to calm her racing heart. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Why are you here? The orphanage isn’t open until morning! If you wake one of the nuns up, they’re gonna come after you with their big sticks!”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to make sure we stay _really_ quiet, uhhh….”

“Manon,” the girl said proudly. “My name is Manon.”

“Well, Manon, so long as you promise to stay super quiet, I’ve brought something for you and the other children.”

Manon’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes.” Marinette reached into her basket, pulling out a cloth bundle and setting it on the windowsill. “Now be a good girl and share these with the others. And if you’re good enough I’ll come back in a couple days with more.”

Marinette watched as Manon untied the bundle, the gaunt orphan brimming with excitement and wonder as she revealed a pile of miniature croissants. Curious at what was going on, a few other kids had started to congregate around the window, mirroring Manon’s expression on their faces. The sight warmed Marinette’s heart.

“Now be good, and don’t tell anyone I was here,” Marinette winked at the children.

“Yeah! Of course! Thank you, lady!”

She turned around, about to disappear back into the night, when she heard Manon call out to her again.

“Wait! Lady?”

Marinette stopped in her tracks, turning back to face the children. Manon had disappeared from view, the crowd of children shifting to make room for the girl as she grabbed something from one of the beds. Then, reaching out through the open window, she dropped something in Marinette’s hands.

“This is for you. It means you’re my friend now, so you have to come back.”

Marinette looked at the worn, well-loved toy she was holding. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was a bandalore, something she had played with a lot when she was younger herself. The paint was faded, but spots of red still added color to the wooden toy. “I love it. I’ll come back soon so we can play with it together.”

She was almost afraid that Manon’s huge smile was going to crack her little face. Giving the child a gentle pat on the head, she let herself disappear back into the dark alleys of Paris.

* * *

 Marinette was absent-mindedly turning the bandalore over in her hand, letting her basket swing freely at her side as she picked her way back across town. She found the cover of darkness to be extremely soothing. It was a shame that thieves, looters, and other criminals who lurked in the night made it dangerous to be out, otherwise she would love to do this all the time.

_I could just sit on a random rooftop somewhere, stare up at the moon, and listen as the city sleeps…_

“How much farther until we get to the next target?”

The muffled sound of footsteps echoed across the end of the alley. Hastily, Marinette pressed herself up against a wall, hoping the shadows would hide her from what was surely a late night looting party. She watched as a small group of about fifteen young men gathered where the alley let out into the main street up ahead. They were all turned towards a tall blonde, presumably their leader from the way he carried himself.

From where Marinette was hiding she could only see his back, but it looked like he was wearing black from head to toe. Granted, most of the group appeared to be wearing dark colors, but the blonde was entirely decked-out in jet black – from a casual black shirt tucked into his black pants, all the way down to his black boots. To top it off, a long dagger was sheathed at the back of his black belt. It gave him a very mysterious, swashbuckler-esque air.

Her senses were screaming at her that she would be in trouble if she didn’t get out of that alley quickly. But she couldn’t help but be intrigued, refusing to move even though her life probably depended on it.

“Just a couple blocks away,” he said in a low, commanding voice. His voice wasn’t very deep like you’d expect from someone in authority – rather, his voice sounded more like its own soothing melody, laced at the edges with something cold, sarcastic, and fiery.

_Don’t fall in love with that voice, Marinette. This guy’s no good. Don’t do it. No matter how fascinating he sounds…_

“That’s where the district is that the noblemen from Versailles like to frequent,” Monsieur Tall, Dark, and Mysterious continued. “I hear that some of the shops are favorites of the king and queen themselves.”

_Uh-oh, that sounds like my neighborhood._

“Hey Noir, where do you keep getting this information from?” someone from the group questioned.

“I have my sources. Now, do you want to stick it to the aristocracy, or not?”

With some muttered agreements, the group continued their trek down the street and past the alley. One by one they left, and Marinette watched as the blonde waited to fall in behind his men. When he turned his head, giving her a better view of his profile, she couldn’t help but let out a silent gasp.

His jawline looked like it had been chiseled out by a Renaissance sculptor, casting dark shadows on his neck. And though his line of sight was following the group of young men, she could make out that his eyes were as green as the palace gardens on a bright sunny day. From this angle, his eyes almost looked cat-like. But what was most surprising was the fact that he looked like he was about her age, maybe a year or two older, easily making him the youngest of the looting party.

But it was hard to tell exactly how old he was, due to the fact that the features around his emerald eyes were covered by a midnight black mask.

She wasn’t sure if it was the jaw or the eyes or the age or the mask, but somewhere in the span of a second when she was processing the sight, Marinette heard a small clacking sound as the bandalore she had been holding fell to the ground.

_Dear Lord, please say he didn’t hear that…_

His head turned ever so slightly towards her, both of his green eyes locking onto hers.

_Crap. Darn it. Shoot. Crap. He saw me. I know he saw me. A lone girl, in an alley, in the middle of the night. I’ve heard the stories about what characters like that do to girls like me. Maybe if I don’t move he’ll forget I’m here. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m doomed._

“Noir! You coming or what?” a member of the motley mob yelled from farther down the street.

“Yeah, go on, I’ll catch up in just a second. I’ve spotted something I want to check out first.”

_Well, at least it would only be one guy instead of sixteen. But I don’t stand a chance against that dagger._

He stood there at the entryway to the alley, studying the street as the sound of footsteps grew fainter. He must have been waiting for the other men to round a corner, because he waited until after the footsteps disappeared to turn around to face her.

Marinette’s instincts were telling her to run, to scream, do something, _anything_ , but instead all she did was stand there pressed up against the wall, petrified by his stare.

Then the young man – Noir, was it? – started strolling her way. Despite his dangerous appearance, there was nothing predatory about his walk. Instead he held himself upright, exuding confidence. The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned past his collarbone, and it fluttered slightly as he moved through the still air. Definitely very swashbuckler-esque.

As he got closer she felt like she was going to get swallowed up by his gaze. Oh gosh, those eyes. Those bright, green eyes. She never thought there could be so much green in one person’s eyes. And yet again, there was nothing aggressive about his features at all. If anything, there was curiosity. Playfulness, even, as she spied the corner of his lips quirking upwards in a smirk. Those looked like fun lips. Soft lips…

She felt her pulse speeding up.

_OH NO, HE’S HOT._

“So, what have we here?” he asked, standing close enough that Marinette could feel his body heat fill the space between them, trapping her against the wall.

“Uhmmm… err… I-I….. I, uh….” _COME ON SUPER MASK CONFIDENCE, DON’T FAIL ME NOW. WORDS. USE YOUR WORDS, MARINETTE. DON’T GET STABBED BY THE POINTY DAGGER BEHIND HIS BACK THAT YOU COULD PROBABLY REACH IF YOU WRAP YOUR ARMS…_

“As endearing as your stammering is, I do have places to be tonight.”

_Oh right. The looting and rioting._

In _her_ neighborhood.

Marinette took a steadying breath to clear her head. It didn’t matter how attractive he looked or how playful he seemed or how much she wanted to touch the edge of his collarbone peeking out from under his shirt, what he was about to do wasn’t right.

“About that,” she said a little more confidently than she felt, “what did those poor shopkeepers and their families ever do to you?”

“Nothing, little lady. But the aristocrats of this city seem to like them, so if that’s the best way to get a message through to them that’s where we’re going to strike next.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe those families are just barely scraping by themselves?”

“How could they? If the rich like what they’ve got, surely _they_ have more than enough, too.”

“I wish that’s how it worked, but it’s not.” Marinette stood up taller, placing her hands on her hips. She was still a head shorter than the blonde boy in black, but she could see the doubt starting to creep into his eyes.

“I know this part of town, I know these people,” she continued. “And even the people who make and sell the food around here barely have enough for themselves at the end of the day.” Right on cue, she felt her stomach growl from not getting a proper meal all day. She had given up her supper to pass it along to the starving orphans.

A choice she would gladly make again.

The young man’s face fell. “But… I always thought…” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wanted to help change things…”

“Then why not go after the palace directly?”

“Too many guards. Too high of walls. If the people I had to work with were more organized, then maybe, but it’s hard enough getting this disgruntled gaggle not to attack every single house or shop they see.”

_At least he had good intentions, even if his actions were horribly misguided._

Suddenly, Marinette remembered something her father had mentioned earlier. “Then why not try something more diplomatic?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“I’ve heard _Les États-Généraux_ is convening soon. Maybe you could make a difference through there.”

“We’ll see. So many people are crying for violence, though, that I’m not sure how well diplomacy will work.”

“We won’t know until we try.”

He gave a resigned chuckle in response. “I suppose.”

A couple seconds of silence passed between them as the moon came out from behind a cloud, lining everything with a silvery glow. _Dammit, why is he so attractive? And who is he, anyway?_

“By the way, you never answered my first question: who are you?” he inquired, echoing her thoughts.

“I’m…” _Marinette Dupain. Average 16-year-old. Baker’s daughter. Sneaking around in a red and black spotted mask because I wanted to feed the orphans and my dead mom liked ladybugs a lot._

_Ladybugs…_

“I’m Ladybug.”

“Ahhh, _Lady chance_ , how fitting,” he tenderly grabbed one of her hands, kissing the back of it. The heat from his fingers and lips burned their memory into her skin. “I am lucky to have run into you, and I have a feeling we shall meet again. But right now, I have to go try to convince a group of angry young men not to pillage the fine folk of this neighborhood.” He picked up the fallen bandalore from the ground and pressed it into her hand.

“Thank you,” she replied, feeling a faint blush cross her cheeks as he let go. The black-clad boy had turned to start bounding after his colleagues when she cried out, “Wait! I don’t know your name!”

He paused at the entrance to the alley, bending over in a sweeping bow.

“ _Je m’appelle Chat Noir_.”

And with that, he turned tail and ran off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to play around with how the Love Square works in this fic, heheheh. It's gonna be kind of backwards and fun and it'll be great. Maybe.
> 
> Also, I'm imagining Chat Noir to actually be a smooth-talker in this universe. Like, still punny, but more suave about it. I dunno. His dork side will still probably come out at some point, some way.


	2. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien just might regret that night for the rest of his days...  
> But he'll never forget the first time he saw her face.

Adrien paced restlessly like a caged animal across the floor of his room. Since coming back last night, he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had skipped breakfast, refusing to leave his room no matter how many people came and knocked on his door. He didn’t want to eat today.

Because something was already eating him from the inside out.

After his run-in with that odd Ladybug girl, he had hurried after the rag-tag group of men he led. They were surprisingly loyal to him, despite knowing next to nothing about him. But it didn’t matter if they listened to him or not – he had been too late.

By the time he arrived at the market district, two of the houses were already engulfed in flames. He had barked at the men, somehow convincing them to put out the torch they had lit for a third house and go home.

Those families hadn’t done anything wrong. They were still victims of the system, just like everyone else. The fact that the aristocracy always seemed to shop there just helped them hide it a little better than most.

Adrien was mentally kicking himself as a pit of guilt gnawed away at his stomach.

He hadn’t even checked to see if any of the families had gotten out of the inferno okay.

For all he knew, they had been burnt to a crisp.

Women. Children. Dead.

_And it’s my fault._

He shouldn’t have suggested that target in the first place. He had made too many wrong assumptions.

He had watched those merchants come in and out of the palace all the time, dressed in their best clothes and biggest smiles, whenever the king requested their services. And duh, what else would any respectable person wear to the palace except their best clothes? Of _course_ that wasn’t what those families were like every day. They were just putting on a show, trying to do everything they could to provide for their families. He had been blind. Stupid and blind.

It had taken only a few words from a girl in a strange red and black spotted mask to show him just how blind he was.

_And I was still too late._

He should have realized much sooner that only the people living _inside_ the palace should be the target of the starving, angry people of France. The comfy, stuck-up, way too wealthy for their own good aristocrats.

_I, of all people, should know._

Adrien put his pacing on hold to look at his appearance in the mirror. There were sunken bags under his eyes from his lack of sleep, his blonde hair was a frazzled mop on his head, and his bare chest heaved and glistened with a thin layer of sweat.

But he didn’t have any ribs jutting out from his sides. No hollows in his cheeks. Only smooth skin and toned muscle. No caked-on dirt or grime, save for a smear of dirt on his cheek he hadn’t washed off yet from last night.

To the average population of Paris, he would look like he was in good shape. _Really_ good shape.

But if his father walked in and saw him like this, he’d have a conniption.

The thought made Adrien chuckle a little, slightly easing the knot in his belly.

His father served as the royal family’s personal tailor. And dressmaker. And hatmaker. And literally everything and anything else pertaining to fashion. If the royals wore it, chances were Gabriel Agreste had some part in designing it.

To make sure that his father was always ready at their beck and call to create whatever bedazzling look they wanted next, they had elevated the status of the Agreste family and invited them to live in the palace. So Adrien, despite not having any royal blood whatsoever, had been born and raised in the glittering palace of Versailles.

And when you live in a palace, you’re expected to act a certain way. Dress a certain way. Always be on your best behavior, especially if a single toe out of line could mean the end of your father’s career. But in return he got a good education, a solid (if not way too large) roof over his head, and he wouldn’t have to worry about starving to death.

But Adrien didn’t have any friends.

He didn’t have any freedom.

So after years of growing more restless by the day, itching to run around and explore the city just beyond the giant walls around him, shortly after his sixteenth birthday he donned the black mask and snuck out of the palace. The first night, a group of rebels cornered him when he took a wrong turn down an alley. Somehow he had managed to get out of the situation in (mostly) one piece using nothing but his wits.

The second night, Adrien showed up on the streets with a scabbed-over scrape on his cheek and his steel dagger in his hand.

So when the group of young, scrappy, and hungry men cornered him again, they recruited him to join their side instead of punching him in the gut.

Now he was nearly seventeen and every night he transformed into the masked vigilante Chat Noir, leading the continuously growing group in their fight for liberty. Equality. Fraternity.

_Fraternity… that word has a nice ring to it when you’ve never had a group of friends before._

_Even though they wouldn’t see him as a friend if they ever knew who he really was._

Adrien didn’t really dwell on that much, however – because even if they called him a hypocrite someday in the future, at least right now he felt like he was finally putting his life to good use. _Like he was finally doing the right thing._

And up until last night, he had never had any second thoughts about that. It was very easy to justify rioting and looting when you and your band of found brothers believed it was the right thing to do. Easy to justify when you believed it was the only way you could make some sort of imprint on the world around you, because otherwise the world wouldn’t even give you a second glance as it passed you by.

So if you made a scene, forced the spotlight to shine on the situation, maybe you’d finally get the world to look your way. Get them to notice the injustices so maybe something could finally be done about it. At least, that had been the plan.

Adrien sighed and slumped against the window, looking out at his view of the main gate.

_I_ think _I still know what’s right. That what I’m fighting for is right. But I’m not so sure about my methods anymore._

Maybe it’s time for a change in tactics. 

Maybe it’s time for some diplomacy for once instead of fighting. 

Ladybug had mentioned something about _Les États-Généraux_ _, right? That seemed like a good place to start._

_But not right now. For the moment, Adrien simply wanted to blankly stare out the window and watch the world pass him by._

* * *

The sight of the dark-haired baker and his daughter rolling through the gates with their bread cart broke Adrien from his reverie.

Well, it was more like the sight of the bread cart caused his stomach to growl violently. And hunger was harder to ignore than guilt.

With a deep breath, he took note of how high the sun was in the sky – if he had to guess, it was already after noon. He was kind of surprised that no one had tried to call him for lunch already. Not that he would have responded. And it was quite possible that they had already tried and he had flat-out ignored them.

And if that was the case, he was probably going to get a lecture from his father about manners later.

_Great._

Adrien continued to stare down at the courtyard, watching as the baker was going over the contents of his cart with the guard. A thought started tickling the back of his mind.

_That girl looks familiar. Where have I seen her before?_

He tried searching his memory banks, but all that came to mind were the events of the night before. The sight of his men looking abashed when he reprimanded them. The chaos of people evacuating their homes and gathering up their families. Merchants watching with tears in their eyes as their life’s work slowly burned to the ground.

A girl with loose dark hair staring him down with bright blue eyes before running into one of the flaming buildings.

It was hard to tell from this distance, but the baker’s daughter looked just about as tired as Adrien felt. And it was very possible that the shadows at the edge of her face were smears of soot and ash. A pair of sky blue eyes scanned the courtyard around her.

_That’s got to be her. The girl who had the courage and compassion to do the last thing I failed to do._

_It_ has _to be her. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere._

_That meant she was there. She’d know what happened. She’d know if anyone got hurt._

_I need to talk to her._

With a new sense of purpose, he cleaned off the grime and sweat from his skin using the basin by his bed. He stripped off his black pants, replacing them with a pair of fitted beige breeches and throwing on a loose, white long-sleeved shirt. The heat was already climbing despite only being springtime – this summer was going to be a hot one.

After checking in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable, from his hastily combed blonde hair down to his shoes, he quickly dashed out the door and around the corner into the hall. Making a beeline for the stairs that led down to the courtyard, he nearly ran over a couple of servants.

“Ah, young master Agreste! Your father – “

“Has been looking for me?” he finished. “I have an important matter to attend to at the moment, please let him know I will see him at dinner.” With a somewhat sarcastic bow Adrien resumed his determined pace, leaving the surprised servants behind to wonder which one of them was going to be the lucky one to tell Gabriel Agreste that his son had refused his summons.

He found himself in the courtyard soon enough, relaxing his pace as he strolled over to where the baker and his daughter still stood with the guards. The last thing he needed right now was to come across as a madman and make a scene out in broad daylight – he’d never hear the end of it from his father.

The guard looked like he was just finishing up his inspection as he approached them. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Agreste. May I presume you are feeling better?”

Word always travels fast in the palace, especially words that involve gossip.

“A little,” Adrien answered. “I thought some fresh air might do me some good. And who, may I ask, are these fine folk?” His stomach growled lowly as he caught a whiff of the fresh breads in the cart. The morals of the king and queen might be deplorable sometimes, but at least they had good taste.

“This is Thomas Dupain and his daughter, Marinette.” Each gave a slight bow of their head when acknowledged.

_Marinette…_

Adrien finally allowed himself to look at the baker’s daughter. She was wearing a simple robin’s egg blue dress and a soft pink apron, her dark blue hair partially tied back with the same color pink ribbon. She looked like the type of person who had walked out of a fairytale, the kind where she played the beautiful, simple girl destined to become a princess.

Then his eyes locked onto hers and suddenly he felt helpless. Down for the count, drowning in them, helpless.

His heart thudded in his chest.

The guard continued, “They are here to make their weekly delivery from their bakery. I was just about to clear them to proceed inside.”

Adrien tried to ignore his racing heart, making an effort to control his voice as he spoke, “Excellent. Perhaps… if it isn’t too much trouble… w-would the young lady like to join me on my walk through the gardens? Some company would be… nice.” _Come on, Adrien, get your act together. You don’t know anything about this girl yet, stop acting like a shy, lovesick kitten._

The guard eyed him a little suspiciously, a small smile forming on his lips. Adrien _never_ asked for company, ever. In fact, the boy was constantly turning away requests from local women of all shapes and sizes asking to spend time with the blonde heartthrob.

_Great, more fodder for the palace gossip machine._

But he needed to find out what had happened last night. He needed to talk to Marinette.

_And, with any luck, this won’t be the last time I talk with her…_

The girl looked up at her father. “Papa…”

“Go ahead, Marinette. I think I can manage delivering bread on my own,” her father said with a wink, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“But papa…”

“It would be rude to refuse, Marinette. And I’m sure this fine young man would be more than happy to walk you back to the bakery when you’re done.”

_God bless this wonderful baker._ “Indeed, I would be,” he responded with a nod of his head.

“It’s settled, then,” the baker said in a cheery voice, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead before lightly pushing her in Adrien’s direction. “I’ll see you at home later, sweetie.”

With wide eyes, Marinette hesitantly took hold of the arm Adrien offered her. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll take good care of her,” he gave the baker a playful two-fingered salute. He led Marinette off in the direction of the gardens, the soft chuckle of her father echoing in the courtyard behind them.

After the pair had passed under an archway, Adrien finally broke the silence between them. “I… I apologize if I’ve been too forward. I usually don’t socialize much outside of events here at the palace, but I haven’t been feeling like myself lately and… well… you just seemed like a very approachable person I could talk with. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable…” he raked his free hand through his hair shyly.

She looked up at him from her place at his side. “No, it’s alright. It was just very unexpected, that’s all, Monsieur Agreste,” she said, her voice sweet and kind. The top of her head barely came to the same level as Adrien’s chin, though she looked like she was roughly the same age as him.

“Adrien. You can call me Adrien.”

The two walked in silence again for a little while. After they rounded another corner, she spoke again, “You know, I’ve been coming here nearly every week for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never seen the gardens.”

He smiled down at her, “Well then, you’re in for a treat.” He led her through one last archway, entering into the area of the massive Versailles gardens. Flowers and trees and shrubberies and all things green stretched as far as the eye could see. He peered at her reaction from the corner of his eyes, his heart fluttering as she gasped and her eyes lit up in wonder.

“It’s amazing! I’ve never seen so many beautiful things in one place before!”

_Me neither_ , he thought to himself as a ray of sunshine caught her dark locks of hair, making it look like she had midnight blue highlights. “Here, let me show you one of my favorite spots,” he said, motioning to one of the paths in front of him.

He led her past rows of roses and bushes, snaking around near a grove of flowering hawthorn trees tucked away in a corner. Here the path had become obscured by some of the branches, the gardeners unwilling to brave the thorns they had let grow for so long that it was nearly impossible to trim them back now. But with the help of his dagger, over the years he had kept the branches pruned just enough to let him pass through – he wasn’t afraid of getting scratched.

Adrien ducked down under the branches, sliding through an opening that was barely large enough for a single person comfortably to pass through unscathed. He motioned for Marinette to follow.

Straightening up as they entered into the secluded area, they were welcomed by the heavy scent of flowers and the hot sun beating down on them from above. Marigolds bloomed across the entire clearing, save for a small dirt path through the middle and a somewhat large rock he had rolled under the shade of one of the trees.

Adrien sauntered across the small clearing, sitting himself down on the rock. He grinned over at the baker’s daughter, her awestruck eyes resting on his as he patted the spot next to him. She came over and joined him, still staring at the sea of flowers around them.

“It’s beautiful!” she breathed, “It’s like a secret garden from a fairytale or something!”

He smiled at how her words echoed his thoughts from earlier. His newfound princess looked right at home surrounded by the blossoming marigolds.

_Wait, did I just…? I just thought of her as my princess. Hmm._

Pushing the thought to the side, Adrien responded to her comment. “It’s one of my secret hiding places. It’s my way of escaping the palace without actually leaving.” He conveniently left out the part where he left the palace nightly anyways disguised as Chat Noir – as much as he felt the strange need to tell this girl all his secrets, that was one he was still going to hold onto for a while.

“But when you have all of this,” she gestured around them, “why would you want to leave?”

“Somedays I don’t feel like I belong here. Most days, actually…” he trailed off, sighing. It felt good to finally open up to someone for once, even if he still knew next to nothing about her.

As he looked over at her, he caught something dark flicker across her face. “At least here you’re safe.”

Her words brought back the pang of guilt in his gut, raging stronger than before. Now that he was closer, he clearly saw the streak of soot casting a dark shadow against the edge of her cheek. Hesitantly reaching out with his hand, he brushed against the mark with the back of his index finger. “Accident at the bakery?” he asked, knowing full well that wasn’t the origin of the mark.

Startled by his touch, Marinette turned to face him directly, frantically rubbing at the soot and knocking his hand away in the process.

_Idiot. Great idea, add to the list of stupid things you’ve done in the past twenty-four hours. Don’t you_ dare _scare this girl away._

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have touched – “

“Oh, uh, it’s alright. I didn’t realize I had missed a spot this morning.” She responded to him with nothing but kindness. She was better than he deserved.

“If I may ask, what happened?”

“There was a fire in our neighborhood last night.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued, “A group of rioters started it.”

“That’s awful. Was anyone hurt?” Now he would finally get the answer to one of the questions that had been eating at him all day.

Marinette’s voice was soft. “The couple who owned the cobbler’s shop. Everyone else was able to get out safe, but they…” her voice caught in her throat. “I ran in after them and was able to pull Madame Chamack to safety, but… her husband…” Adrien watched as a tear rolled down her cheek.

_My fault._

His heart grew heavy as the weight of the man’s death settled on it. At least it was only one. But it was still one death too many.

“I’m so sorry,” he carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders, relieved when Marinette leaned against his side in response. The scent of bread and butter wafted off of her, tinged with the burnt smell of smoke. “I hope those rioters pay the price for what they’ve done.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” she sniffed against his shoulder. “Their leader seemed just as shocked as the rest of us – I’m sure he won’t let them get away with it.”

“Their leader?” he asked, already knowing all-too-well the answer to his question.

“Yeah, some guy dressed in all black. Even wore a black mask. Kind of tall and mysterious…” she stared out across the clearing, a wistful look in her eye.

_Interesting._

“So what, you don’t think this guy should be held responsible for the actions of his men?”

“Now, I didn’t say that! He’s just as guilty as the rest of them. But… from the look on his face… I think he had good intentions, but it ended up getting out of hand.” _How had she been able to tell all that from a brief look at his masked expression?_ “I think that, in time, he could be forgiven. So long as he reprimands his men and doesn’t let it happen again.”

“Even though he was responsible for someone’s death?” He questioned, hopeful at the idea that someone could forgive him for what he’d done.

“Well… yeah,” she nervously looked around the clearing before resting her eyes on his. When she continued, her voice was low, “And when you take into consideration how many have starved to death because the king…” she immediately looked down, clearly ashamed she had just uttered such words on the grounds of the palace. In front of someone from the nobility.

He wanted nothing more than to scoop her into his arms and face the world with her at her side. She had a fire inside of her, fueled by a kindness that she willingly outstretched to everyone she came into contact with. A kindness that coldly fell short when crossed by those who dared to threaten those she clearly cared about.

A kindness that she seemed to be extending to him, despite who he was and what he’d done. As both a nobleman and as Chat Noir.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she quickly muttered, eyes still downcast. “Not here. Not in front of you.”

He tenderly cupped her chin, his other arm still draped across her shoulders. Her eyes shyly rose to meet his own as he lifted her head. “It’s alright, Marinette. I told you, I don’t exactly identify with the people I live with.”

He watched the lines of worry melt from her features, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re a strange boy, Adrien Agreste.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” He reached down and plucked a marigold from beside them. He offered it to her, and with a smile she tucked the flower into her hair behind her ear. The orange color contrasted her hair and blue eyes nicely.

Glancing up, he noticed that the shadows cast by the hawthorn trees had lengthened. He stood up, offering a hand to Marinette. “I think it’s about time I took you home,” he said, “Your father seems like a nice man, but something tells me if I don’t bring you back soon I might end up a dead boy in addition to a strange one.” He flashed her a rakish grin, calling forth a bubble of laughter from the girl as she took his hand.

His pulse quickened at the touch of her soft skin against his.

Then his stomach gave a low rumble, reminding him of his hunger from skipping meals today. And, as his gaze glanced over her smiling face, focusing on a pair of very pink, soft-looking lips, he felt another kind of hunger creep into his belly.

He hoped the blush he felt rising to his cheeks wasn’t too noticeable.

“Then by all means, _monsieur_ , lead the way.”

He guided her past the protective tree line, back through the gardens, and out to the main gate. As the duo passed by the guard, Marinette’s hands lightly wrapped around his arm, the guard gave him a knowing wink.

Adrien returned the wink with an eye roll, but couldn’t help but smile down at Marinette as he felt his heart lurch in his chest. Whether or not anything happened in the future between the fashion mogul’s son and the baker’s daughter, at least he felt like he had made a new friend.

Finally, he, _Adrien Agreste_ – _not_ Chat Noir – had made a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter seemed like it took five-ever for me to write and edit. (That's like forever, except even longer.) Especially when my brain kept trying to jump ahead to what's going to happen with the plot in the future. And I was just like "No, brain, we gotta set everything up first! Patience!"
> 
> So... yeah. I'm hoping I'll be able to update this weekly, but now that my real life job is starting to pick up we'll see what actually happens. Stay tuned!


	3. Fermentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsome, boy does he know it,  
> Peach fuzz and he can't even grow it.  
> Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame,  
> He's never satisfied. This is not a game...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this chapter even longer, but when I got to a nice stopping point and saw the word count was already over 2700 I thought I'd spare y'all before it doubled in length or something XD
> 
> Also, my recent google history is me looking up various bread-related terms. Google probably thinks I want to be a baker or something now.

“Well, this is me.”

Marinette turned to face Adrien as they approached the front door of the bakery. She was grateful for the company on the walk home, but she couldn’t help but notice that the clean boy clad in white looked jarringly out of place in her neighborhood.

And that was saying something, because she saw noble-men and –women traverse up and down the street all the time, ducking into whichever shop on the little row happened to be their favorite.

He looked down at her with warm green eyes after glancing at the wooden sign above the door. “Aha, I see.”

Despite the hustle and bustle in the street as late afternoon moved on towards evening, she heard a low growl come from Adrien’s stomach.

_Well that’s something you don’t hear every day._

_Er, at least, not from someone like him._

“Adrien, did you want to come inside? It’s almost dinnertime, and I’m sure Papa wouldn’t mind the extra company.”

A light pink color tinged his cheeks. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to… I mean, you know… Uh, that is to say…” he trailed off and took a breath before restarting. “I’m supposed to be back home to have dinner with my father. I’ve been avoiding him all day, and if I don’t show I’ll definitely be in trouble.”

He took a moment to look around at their surroundings, his eyes settling on the pair of burnt houses down the road. “Is that where…?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry…” he said softly, his eyebrows furrowing as a pained expression passed over his face.

Marinette reached out and laid a comforting hand on the troubled kitten’s shoulder. “Don’t be. It’s not like it was your fault.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his suddenly stony face still locked in the direction of the burnt buildings.

“How can you be so sure?”

It was a loaded question, and the way he had uttered those words sent a chill down her spine.

She put her hands on her hips and retorted, “Because I just know, okay?”

“But you’ve only known me for a few hours.”

_Why is he so determined to paint himself as a villain? Sure, he lives in the palace with a slew of other aristocrats, but from everything I’ve seen so far he doesn’t act anything like the rest of them._

“I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character, thank you very much.”

“Really?” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Yes. Now drop it, before I decide to change my mind.”

He let out a silent chuckle. “As you wish, Princess.” She watched his eyes grow wide as his blush mirrored the heat she felt rising to her cheeks.

_Wait, did he seriously just call me ‘Princess’?_

“Umm – “

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Marinette! I’m not sure where that came from!” The flustered blonde buried his face in his hands.

She released her confusion in a nervous laugh. “It’s alright, Adrien.” She brushed a lock of hair from in front of her face and added, “I mean this in the best way possible, but you’re probably the strangest boy I’ve ever met.”

Adrien peeked at her from between his fingers, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, is meeting strange boys a habit of yours?”

His expression tickled the back of her memory, recalling the other strange blonde she had run into the night before. “Only recently. Why would _you_ need to know?”

“Oh, um… I, er… I-I don’t… s-sorry…” the pink on his cheeks deepened to a bright red as he hid behind his hands again.

_Poor kid – he’s been cooped up in a palace for so long he doesn’t know how to have a proper conversation._

Another gurgling sound came from his stomach.

“Adrien, unless you were reconsidering my offer to stay, I think you should probably head home for dinner now.”

He uncovered his face and nervously scratched the back of his head. “I guess you’re right. I… uh, thanks again for talking with me.”

“No problem.”

He turned around to leave, but he only made it a couple steps before stopping in his tracks. “Hey, uh, Marinette?”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again soon?” He had worriedly started chewing on his lower lip, and the strange mix of concern and hope that danced in his green eyes was kind of… cute.

“Well, Papa and I only go to the palace once a week, so unless you were to come to the bakery…”

“I could do that!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, quickly backpedaling. “I, uh… w-well, yeah. S-see you later, Marinette!” He gave her an enthusiastic wave before jamming his hands into the pockets of his breeches, turning on his heel, and hastily walking back up the street in the direction of the palace.

“Wow,” Marinette muttered under her breath, “I never knew someone who lived in the palace could be so awkward.”

Giggling to herself, she opened the door to the bakery. She was welcomed by the warm scent of baking bread and her dad smiling broadly at her.

“So, Marinette, how were the gardens?” Tom asked, pulling one last tray of fresh loaves out of the oven.

Marinette took her place at his side and helped him move the loaves to a cooler location before they burned. “They were really pretty, Papa. I’ve never seen so many flowers before in one spot!”

“I take it there were enough flowers for you to take one home?”

“Huh?”

Tom nodded at her, staring at a spot on the side of her head.

_Oh right, the marigold. I had forgotten about that._

“Oh! Uh, Adrien gave it to me.”

“Ah, the handsome young lad.” His eyes twinkled with a knowing light as he winked at her.

“Papa! It’s not like that! He’s a friend, that’s all.” She could feel her face flushing with embarrassment.

_This is ridiculous. I don’t have feelings for Adrien, not like that! Now, Chat Noir on the other hand…_

“If you insist, sweetie. Just don’t rule the idea out yet, okay?”

“Papa…” she groaned.

“Marinette,” he turned to her with a serious tone. “You aren’t going to want to stay here forever. Someone like Adrien Agreste would be able to provide for you more than I ever could hope for. And with all the unrest lately… knowing you would be well cared for would put my mind at ease.”

“But Papa – “

“Marinette, please. Just promise me you won’t rule the possibility out, that’s all I’m asking for.”

The caring look on her father’s face melted her heart. “Of course, Papa. But you’re still stuck with me for a while – you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” She playfully poked her finger in a pile of flower and swiped it across his nose. 

The father and daughter team burst into a jovial chorus of laughter as they went about wrapping up their work for the day.

* * *

The metallic sound of silverware clinking against china plates echoed in the large dining room. This particular room was set aside for the various minor members of the palace nobility to use, and currently it was occupied by Gabriel Agreste and his legion of associates and servants he utilized to make the king and queen’s fantastical wardrobe a reality.

It was also occupied by Gabriel’s son, who was slouching in his seat at his father’s right hand side.

“Adrien, posture.”

“Yes, father.” Adrien sat up in his chair, still meticulously poking at the slab of beef and assorted vegetables on his plate. The brown gravy that was drizzled over top of everything had a heavenly smell to it that made his already starving stomach rumble in want. But the sight of the pristine table settings coupled with the echoing of every sound off the room’s cold marble walls made the bile rise in Adrien’s throat.

He watched in satisfaction as one of the peas he was dejectedly stabbing rolled off the plate and onto the white tablecloth.

“Adrien,” his father scolded again.

Adrien tore his gaze from his miniature act of rebellion to look his father in the eye. His silvering hair and impeccable coat matched the décor of the room, but the elder Agreste’s stormy eyes were looking over his son with disapproval.

“You refuse to come out of your room all day, and now you’re picking at your food? Explain yourself.”

Adrien sighed. “Sorry, father. I guess I’m still not feeling well today. I’m sure it will pass in due time.”

A couple of the maids were murmuring and giggling amongst themselves next to one of the doorways. Gabriel turned his head toward them. “Do you have something you would like to share?”

It wasn’t really a question, it was more of a demand.

One of the maids spoke up, “Sorry, _monsieur_ , I was just commenting that the young master Agreste wasn’t in his room _all_ day.”

“Really, now?” He watched his father’s face twist in amusement. “Do go on.”

Adrien shot a look of horror across the room at the maids, but they completely ignored him in order to appease their boss.

“Well, uh, _monsieur_ , a few of the guards spotted him in the gardens this afternoon…”

“Getting some fresh air, I presume?” A bored tone was creeping into his father’s voice.

“Uh, no… he was with a girl.”

The air in the room hung silent as the assorted sounds of clinking dinnerware ceased. Suddenly everyone at the table had become very interested in the conversation taking place regarding the fashion designer’s son.

Gabriel trained his attention fully on Adrien. “A girl?”

_Well, no sense hiding it._

“The, ah, baker’s daughter,” Adrien said softly, the tops of his ears burning as he looked down at his plate to avoid his father’s gaze.

“Hmmm. Interesting.”

And just like that, Gabriel Agreste returned to his meal as if nothing had happened. The rest of the room, however, had started whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

“Father? You’re not mad?”

Gabriel patiently laid down his fork and knife and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Why should I be? I’ve seen her and her father at the palace before. You could do worse. You could also do a whole lot better, but I cannot deny the fact that she would make a suitable partner.”

Adrien felt the burning in his ears spread to the rest of his face. This wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation he wanted to have with his father, ever. “I-it’s not like that, she’s just a friend.”

“No need to be embarrassed, Adrien. I was about your age when I first started courting your mother.” His father’s response was met with low snickering around the table. Gabriel wasn’t fazed, but everyone else seemed to be entertained by the new development in Adrien’s social life.

_Great._

Adrien kept his eyes down on his plate, pushing around his peas until he had drowned them in a pool of gravy. Then he started wondering if he could join the little green vegetables.

“I am concerned, however,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat, “that your infatuation is disrupting your appetite.” There were a couple more snickers at the far end of the table.

“Father, I told you, she’s just a friend!”

“Then what is it that’s bothering you? I haven’t seen you put one bite of food in your mouth this entire meal.”

Adrien was almost touched that his father was showing some semblance of concern towards him, one of countless signs of affection he rarely received from Gabriel. But he was too flustered and frustrated to appreciate the brief moment.

“I don’t know, it’s nothing! I guess I’m just not feeling well!” If Adrien raised his voice any further, he’d be shouting.

_Like I’m about to tell my father that it makes me sick that we sit around with our fancy plates and fancy spoons eating over-the-top meals while people are literally starving to death. Or that, in the process of trying to do something about it, I now have a man’s death on my conscience._

Adrien was stewing in his seat, gritting his teeth, when he heard a faint whisper from somewhere on the other side of the room.

“Of course he’s not feeling well, he’s _lovesick_ …”

There was a loud clattering noise as Adrien pounded the table, stabbing his fork into his untouched slab of meat. The force had shaken the table enough that a couple of the emptier glasses closer to him fell over, the noise startling people around the table into knocking over even more glasses. Servants quickly rushed in to frantically mop up the splashes of wine and shards of glass that now littered the tablecloth.

There was a grinding noise as Adrien stood up and pushed his chair out behind him. He met his father’s icy glare with flaming green daggers of fury.

“Excuse me,” Adrien spat, clenching his jaw as he strode past his father towards the door.

Amidst the murmuring that had started to slowly fill the room at his outburst, before completely leaving the room Adrien could have sworn his father’s voice mixed in with the gossip: 

“Just like his mother.”

* * *

Adrien found himself pacing in his room for the second time that day, fighting the urge to throw things and punch and scream and break all the stupid useless items that sat in his room because they “completed the atmosphere”, whatever the hell that meant.

The complaints of his still empty stomach didn’t even bother him anymore. He was too distracted by all the emotions coursing through his system. Guilt. Frustration. Anger. Everything was swimming through his head, and he couldn’t sort out what made sense and what didn’t anymore.

The palace. The marketplace. The burnt houses. His father. The dead cobbler. Chat Noir.

With a groan, Adrien sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.

 _I’m a mess. I’m a hypocrite. What’s the point?_  

He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, his mind slowly converging on a couple of thoughts.

 

_“Promise me something, Adrien.”_

_“Yes, Mama?” An eight-year-old Adrien knelt at his dying mother’s bedside, large tears dripping from his face onto the bedsheets. He clasped her hand as if somehow, someway, holding it as tight as he could would prevent her soul from never leaving his side._

_“Always do what’s right. No matter what.” Her voice was weak from the pneumonia, but it still sounded as comforting as a chorus of cherubs._

_“But how will I know, Mama? What if I mess up?”_

_“Don’t worry, my precious son, you’ll know. As you get older… you’ll figure it out…”_

_His mother coughed violently, and he buried his face against her side. “Mama, don’t leave me!” he cried._

_“I’ll always… be with… you… Adrien……”_

_He watched the light die out from his mother’s eyes._

 

“Mama, I still haven’t figured it out,” he sighed to his empty room. “Everything I do just seems to make things worse.

“Why’d you have to leave me? I feel so alone…”

A voice whispered in the back of his mind, shining a small light in the middle of his dark sea of troubled thoughts: _Adrien, you’re not alone._

Almost immediately, a pair of ocean blue eyes surfaced in his memories along with a fragment from an earlier conversation: _I think he had good intentions, but it ended up getting out of hand._

_Marinette._

He wasn’t sure what sort of future lie ahead for him with the baker’s daughter, but one thought became clearly focused in his mind – he needed to redeem himself. For her sake. Because although he’d only just met her, her opinion meant the world to him. She seemed so genuine and caring and passionate, and that was the type of person he wanted to fight for. _She_ was the type of person Paris belonged to, not the oblivious rich in their castles built on clouds.

His mind clearing, he started donning his black Chat Noir clothes. Before he figured out a suitable way to apologize to the sweet girl who smelled like bread, there was something else he needed to do first.

_Time to go confess my sins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both dads ship Adrinette, lol
> 
> Also, Adrien really needs to eat a Snickers or something. Just saying.


	4. Breaking Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's alright, you want to fight, you've got a hunger  
> I was just like you when I was younger  
> Head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr...
> 
> ...Dying is easy, young man, living is harder.

It was quiet uptown.

The setting sun was casting a golden glow over everything, making this section of Paris look richer than it actually was. In the waning moments of light, next to no one was out and about, everyone being too busy wrapping up their business for the day before it became too dark to see anything.

It was the perfect setting for a young man in a black mask to approach the large wooden doors of Saint Marie’s church unnoticed.

Adrien hesitated as he reached for the handle, making a sign of the cross before pushing his way inside.

The interior of the church was dimly lit by candles high up on the walls. The dying sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows scattered various hues of red, blue, and green across the rows of pews, painting the church with a surreal ambience. It was as if he had been transported to an entirely new world.

Adrien slid into a seat near the back, the creaking of the wooden pew echoing loudly in the empty space. He felt his heartrate rising as he scanned the front of the church – a statue of the Virgin Mary tucked off to the side of the altar seemed to be looking down on him as if it were judging him. As if it knew everything about his past and was challenging the poor sinner who had dared to walk into a Catholic Church with a mask on his face and a dagger tucked in his belt.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

_This was a stupid idea. I can’t do this._

He was in the middle of standing back up to leave when a voice came from the front of the church. “Well, this isn’t something I see every day.”

Wishing he could transform into an ant or ladybug or anything else small and unnoticeable, Adrien looked up at the man who had spoken to him. The first thing he noticed was the obvious priest’s collar around the man’s neck. The second thing he noticed was his head of grey hair, complete with matching beard. He was somewhat short, barely taller than some of the statues standing sentry around the sanctuary.

“Don’t leave just because I’m here, young man. Everyone is always welcome in the House of the Lord.”

Adrien sat back down, clasping his hands tightly on the back of the pew in front of him.

The priest started walking down the center aisle towards him. “Usually the only people I see around this time of day are people seeking shelter, or people seeking forgiveness.” Adrien, sitting with his eyes closed again, could practically feel the priest’s gaze looking him over. “And, by the look of you, I’d wager to say you’re not here for the first option.”

Adrien felt a vibration from the pew in front of him, followed by a groaning sound as the priest sat down diagonal to Adrien. Adrien cautiously opened one eye, quickly opening both when he saw that the priest had his back to Adrien, keeping his vision trained on the front of the church.

“So,” the priest continued, “what kind of burden could a man your age possibly have that brings you out to church at this hour?”

Adrien exhaled slowly. “You’d be surprised.”

“I’ve been on this Earth long enough to see many things, boy. It takes a lot to surprise me.”

Adrien fidgeted silently in his seat, the wood of the pew quietly complaining underneath him. He started chewing on his lower lip, trying to figure out the best way to answer the priest’s question without being sent straight to hell.

The priest cocked his head to one side, still refraining from looking back at Adrien. “It’s been a while since you have been in a church, hasn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“For one, you practically stink of unease. And second, I haven’t seen your face around here for… oh, I don’t know, nearly nine years? That was about when your mother died, correct?”

Adrien nearly choked on his next breath. “Pardon?”

“You _are_ Adrien Agreste, are you not?”

“But… the mask…”

“Is great at hiding facial features. But I see your eyes. I know your eyes. There aren’t very many green-eyed blonde-haired men around town with such a sadness in their eyes.”

Adrien muttered a silent curse under his breath.

“Adrien, your secret is safe with me. Whatever your business is wearing a mask and all black around Paris at night, I don’t want to know. I am only concerned with whatever business brought you here tonight.”

The fact that this priest knew who he was, and had even been at his mother’s funeral and somehow remembered him after all this time, made a lump form in the back of his throat. This was already going to be nerve-wracking enough, but he had been banking on using his anonymity to ease him into confronting his guilt. Despite being fully clothed, Adrien suddenly felt very naked sitting in the back of the church.

“Well, ah… you see, Father…”

“Adam. Father Adam.”

“Ah. Father Adam,” Adrien took a deep breath to try and steady his pounding heart. “You see, I… I’m… I’m responsible for a man’s death.”

“Well now, taking a man’s life is a very serious matter indeed,” the priest said gravely.

“I mean, _I_ didn’t take his life!” he replied, flustered. “It’s, well… It’s a long story.”

Father Adam relaxed into his seat. “My entire job revolves around long stories. Try me.”

It was quite possibly the cheekiest thing Adrien had ever heard a priest say.

“Well, Father, last night there was a fire in the market district,” he said tenuously.

“So I’ve heard.”

“A… a man died. The cobbler.”

“This too I have heard. Monsieur Chamack’s widow visited me this morning to make arrangements for the funeral.”

Adrien felt his stomach twist itself into a knot. It was bad enough to think that he had caused another man to lose his life. But the horror at what he’d done was made all the more real by the thought that this man had been well-known by others in the community. That Madame Chamack would never wake up beside her husband again. That his friends and neighbors would now be left with a gap in their lives.

Neighbors such as Marinette. The sweet baker’s daughter who had claimed earlier in the day that the man responsible for all of this could be forgiven in time, completely unaware that she had been talking with that very person.

He shuddered to think what would happen if she ever found out that the supposedly sheltered rich boy living comfortably in a palace spent his evenings recklessly endangering the citizens of Paris.

_I’m a menace. I’m a murderer._

_It’s my fault._

After several moments of silence, Father Adam spoke again in a low voice, “I take it you were the one to start the fire?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled.

“Son, you either started it or you didn’t. There isn’t much in between.”

“The men who _did_ start it… they might have gotten the idea to do it from me.”

At this, Father Adam turned in his seat to face Adrien. One of his grey, grizzled eyebrows was arched in concern. “Might? Adrien, did you tell them to set those houses on fire or not?”

“Well, no, but – “

“My boy, then it’s not your fault.” The priest spoke to Adrien with more care and concern in his voice than he had ever heard from his own father. The knot in his stomach eased slightly, but the lump in the back of his throat tripled in size.

“But… I told them… the market district…” Adrien choked out, holding back tears that were threatening to blur his vision.

“Adrien,” Father Adam said softly, reaching back to place a comforting hand on Adrien’s shoulder, “whatever is going through your mind right now, whatever you may or may not have done, the death of the cobbler was not your doing. You did not light that fire, and you did not tell others to light that fire. It was _not_ your fault.”

“But I should have been more careful!” Adrien squeezed his eyes shut, willing the salt water stinging his eyes to return from whence they came.

“Probably.”

“I should have been there sooner! I should have tried to save him!”

“Perhaps,” the priest replied thoughtfully. “But there is no shame in self-preservation, either.”

Adrien sniffed, “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that I’m supposed to lay down my life for others or something like that? Isn’t that what priests do?”

“That may be what _other_ priests say, but I like to think that there’s more to living than that. I have a whole sermon I could give about the topic, but something tells me you won’t want to sit through such a long speech,” the grey-haired man added with a wink.

Adrien let out a cross between a laugh and a sob, “Maybe some other time, then.”

Father Adam removed his hand from Adrien’s shoulder as the sound of his strangled laughter died down. Adrien slowly felt the tension melt away from inside of him, but there was still a cloud of guilt hovering in the back of his mind.

Adrien brought his hands to his face, trying to rub away the pocket of pressure that had built up under the bridge of his nose. “I just want to do what’s right,” he muttered.

The priest looked at him with patient brown eyes. “Adrien, the mere fact that you are here right now shows that you’re on the right track. And if you go and pray a couple of ‘Hail Mary’s next you’ll be well on your way.” The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled at Adrien.

“Thank you, Father.” The pew creaked as Adrien stood up. He was about to slide his way out into the aisle, but he was stopped by a hand firmly grasping his wrist.

“Adrien. One more thing.”

“Yes, Father Adam?”

“Trying to do what’s right is always a noble pursuit. But not everyone is meant to be a hero.”

The priest took his free hand warmly clasped Adrien’s before releasing him. But despite the friendly gesture, something about his words was unsettling. Adrien felt like he could ask the elderly man at least a hundred more questions, but he still had other matters to attend to tonight.

“Uh, t-thank you, Father,” he said, slipping out from the pew and away from the paternal figure.

“Not a problem. If you need me again, you know where to find me.”

The sun had finished setting since Adrien had entered the church, making the interior solely lit by the dim candlelight dancing across the walls. The light flickered off of the priest’s face, casting a shadow of concern across his features as Adrien once again made a sign of the cross before shoving open the door.

A gust of cool evening air sharpened Adrien’s senses as he stepped outside. The sudden chill, a contrast from the day’s earlier heat, sent a shiver crawling down his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Or it very well could have been a lingering effect from his conversation with the priest.

With a lighter heart but still heavy soul, Adrien angled himself around the corner of the church so that he could start heading towards the nightly meeting spot of his crew. It was time for the next step of his reconciliation.

He had made it barely halfway past the side of the church when he heard a muffled giggling sound weaving in and out of the evening air.

_Odd, usually children don’t play outside at this hour._

Adrien followed the playful sound past the church and around back where the orphanage stood, a dark grey building perpetually in the shadow of the high-steeple of Saint Marie’s. In a small grassy area directly outside of one of the bedroom windows, a small flock of children stood in a circle around an older girl. The orphans were munching on what looked like misshapen croissants, only pausing their ravenous chewing to stop and laugh with joy as the girl spun around some sort of wooden toy on a string. Every time the wooden red circle did some sort of fantastical loop-de-loop, their cheering and clapping got louder, only to be quickly followed by a series of hushing sounds and muffled giggling.

He was about to walk past the heart-warming scene and continue on his way when something caught his eye, stopping him in his tracks. Flashes of red that adorned the older girl’s face, shoulders, and the waist of her skirt, all scattered with bold black polka dots.

_Ladybug_.

Unable to resist the urge to interrupt, he strolled over to the circle of children and positioned himself directly behind the strange girl in spots.

“Hey there, kids, I hope this lady isn’t _bugging_ you too much.”

A smirk crossed his face as a few of the orphans laughed. Startled, Ladybug whipped around to face him, her bandalore already flung high in the air for whatever trick she had planned next. He briefly made eye contact with her surprised expression before squeezing his eyes in pain as the toy landed squarely on the top of his head with a _thunk_.

“Yeowch! So much for playing around!” he cried out as the entire ring of orphans broke out in a chorus of snickers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” she flustered, her cheeks turning a color to rival her mask as she hastily rewound the toy.

“It’s alright, Milady, it serves me right for sneaking up on you like that.”

One of the orphans, a young girl with scraggly brown pigtails, walked up to Ladybug and tugged at her skirt. “Lady, who is that boy? He’s got a funny mask on, just like you! Do you know him? Are you friends?”

Adrien crouched down to the little girl’s level and made a bowing motion. “Chat Noir, at your service. And what might your name be?”

He was barely able to hear the girl squeak out “Manon” before he was bombarded by a volley of questions from the other orphans.

“Chat Noir? That’s a really funny name!”

“Like a black cat? Aren’t those supposed to be unlucky?”

“Are _you_ unlucky?”

“Is that why you wear a mask? Because you’re hiding from your bad luck?”

“If your name is Chat, where are your cat ears?”

“Oooooh, cool, a sword! Can I touch it?”

Adrien sidestepped the overenthusiastic child reaching for the dagger in his belt, smoothly keeping the orphan at arm’s reach. “First, it’s not a sword, it’s a dagger. And no, you can’t touch it, you might lose an eye.”

“But then I could be a pirate! Arrrr!” the little boy growled as he teetered back to his previous place in the circle.

Placing his hands on his hips, Adrien turned with a chuckle to look at Ladybug. “I like these kids, I can see why you sneak out at night to play with them.”

“Well, I do a little more than just play with them,” she motioned to a ball of crinkled brown wrapping paper by the wall.

_Oh right, the croissants._

His stomach gurgled loudly, once again reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten anything all day.

The little girl, Manon, looked up at him with genuine concern. “Mister Cat Man, is your tummy angry at you? Do you need food, too?”

“Oh no, I’m – “

But before he could finish his sentence, Manon had gone over to pick up the ball of paper and scampered back, offering up the half croissant that sat nestled in the folds of the wrapping. “Here.”

“I couldn’t, I’m sure one of you needs that more than I do.”

“None of our tummies is making noises like that. Yours is loud and angry. Eat it.”

The guilt that had been occupying his stomach all day pushed aside a little when he saw Manon look up at him with large puppy dog eyes. As much as he still felt the need to deny himself food, he feared the consequences of disobeying the small, gangly child would be far worse.

With a smile, he accepted the gift being offered up to him. “Why thank you, Manon.” Despite its misshapen appearance, a heavenly buttery smell wafted up from the croissant he now held in his hands, and before he knew it Adrien was shoving the entire thing into his mouth in one fell swoop.

He heard a couple giggles from some of the orphans, followed by the low rumble of his stomach as it became increasingly self-aware of the scant amount of food it had been supplied that day. It was as if the bread he had just swallowed had somehow made him hungrier, and he felt ashamed when he unconsciously started scanning for any other abandoned food item the orphans might have left behind.

_Note to self: if you ever feel the need to starve yourself out of guilt again, don’t._

As he licked the last of the flaky crumbs from his lips he looked up and made eye contact with Ladybug, who had been staring at him with a strange far-off expression.

_What an odd girl. Kind, but odd._

With his tongue still reaching for the last crumb stuck on the side of his mouth, he flashed her a playful wink. The girl’s face flushed a deep red, even deeper than the patterned fabric accenting her outfit.

“These are really good, Milady, did you make them yourself?”

“O-oh! Ahh, ye- No! n-not really,” she stuttered, “I, uh, h-have a friend who… er, sneaks me h-her bakery’s regents – I mean, rejects!”

Adrien’s mind immediately went to thoughts of Marinette, wondering if the treats she and her dad made tasted just as delicious. They had certainly smelled just as delicious when he had gotten close to their cart in the courtyard, warmed by the same afternoon sun that had danced across Marinette’s dark hair and soft features…

The chances that Ladybug was friends with the proprietors of the one bakery he actually knew had to be slim, though.

“Well then, tell your friend that even the rejects are _purrr_ fect.”

He was almost afraid that his subsequent wink was about to cause the girl to faint.

Their interaction solicited even more giggles from the children, some of them pointing and ‘ooohing’ while others started loudly whispering rumors behind cupped hands. The increased sound level snapped Ladybug back to her senses, causing her to whirl on them with her hands on her hips.

“Now all of you hush, or else I’m sure the nuns will be out here any second!”

“With their big sticks!” Manon squealed, causing all the other orphans to laugh and cry out in mock terror as they started chasing each other around the patch of grass.

“I mean it! And besides, it’s getting late, so you had better go back inside.”

With dejected sighs, one by one the children started making their way over to the open window and climbing their way inside. As Manon brought up the rear, Ladybug helped the small girl up onto the windowsill, where she instantly twisted to give the older girl a hug.

“You’ll come again soon, right, Lady?” he heard Manon mutter into Ladybug’s shoulder.

“Of course.”

As the two parted, Adrien felt his heart simultaneously swell and ache. People like Ladybug and Manon were reasons why he needed to fight. Reasons why he put on the mask.

_Do what’s right._

Ladybug turned back to him, pocketing the bandalore in a fold in her skirt.

“Milady, did you have any other plans for the evening?”

“Well, I, uh… no.”

“Excellent. I have some matters to attend to, and I would love it if you would care to join me.”

She raised a careful eyebrow at him. “What sort of matters?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing you wouldn’t a _purrr_ ove of.” He offered a gentlemanly arm in her direction.

With a slight nod, the girl in spots hesitantly wrapped her fingers in the crook of his elbow. Her touch was feather-light, and he couldn’t help but draw a parallel between her and the other dark-haired girl he had escorted earlier in the day.

But he tried to not dwell on that thought for too long, because the next thing on this evening’s to-do list would require most, if not all, of his focus:

Having a chat with some revolutionary abolitionists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a lot longer to update than I anticipated! But my new job I started last month is finally ramping up the workload (and I actually started socializing with my coworkers, *gasp*), so I don't quite have as much time/energy to write as I used to.
> 
> HOWEVER, it's still my goal to try to update this fic every other week (and then on the off weeks imma gonna try to update my Marichat fic). But we'll see what happens. So bear with me. But I pawmise to never abandon a story until it has been completely finished ;)


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